


In Vino Veritas

by blue_morning



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Case Fic, Dean/Cas Tropefest 5k Mid-Winter Challenge (Supernatural), Destiel - Freeform, Fluff, M/M, New Year's Eve, alcohol use
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-01-12
Updated: 2021-01-12
Packaged: 2021-03-16 07:34:10
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,605
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28702980
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/blue_morning/pseuds/blue_morning
Summary: It’s New Year’s Eve and Team Free Will are hunting a shojo during a party in an upscale winery in northern California. With Cas acting as bait, and Dean armed to kill it, both of them are under the influence, all the better to see the Japanese alcohol spirit before she disembowels anyone. When the combo of whiskey and champagne has him fighting the compulsion to spill his hidden feelings for Cas, Dean realizes that intoxication is a greater danger than the ghost.
Relationships: Castiel/Dean Winchester
Comments: 30
Kudos: 115
Collections: Dean/Cas Tropefest 2021 Mid-Winter 5k





	In Vino Veritas

**Author's Note:**

> I love the Tropefest 5K challenge! I'm so glad to see it back. Thanks to Jojo and Muse for running an excellent low-key and super fun challenge.
> 
> Thanks to [VioletHaze](https://archiveofourown.org/users/VioletHaze/pseuds/VioletHaze) for making the story better. I swear sometimes you know what I want to say better than I do. <3

“A shojo? You sure?” Dean asks, eyes barely open, wincing at even the anemic lights of the bunker’s kitchen.

“As sure as I can be without being there to check it out,” Sam answers, scrolling the iPad. “It checks all the boxes. An exhibition of Japanese pottery, including sake bottles. Three dead in total: two tourists outside the museum in Seattle hosting the exhibit; and a vineyard worker at the last winery that hosted it, south of Portland. Local cops in both places are pegging the deaths as animal attacks.”

“Where is it going next?”

“Napa, California. It’s an art gallery in a winery.” 

“Hipsters,” Dean says dismissively.

“Big party and grand opening of the exhibition is New Year’s Eve, which is in, uh, four days.”

Dean groans. “That’s a lot of driving, and I feel like crap.”

“Maybe you shouldn’t have hit the booze so hard the last couple of days.” 

“Sammy.” Dean rolls his eyes. Sam’s putting the ‘sam’ in ‘samctimonius’ again. “It’s _Christmas_! Eggnog, whiskey, visitors, hospitality, good will toward men. All that good stuff.”

“Yeah and now you’re hungover.”

Dean stretches and runs his hand through his hair. “Yeah. Well. Not as young as I used to be. I’m not looking forward to getting drunk enough to see the shojo.” He gets up and heads for the coffee maker.

Rowena looks up from where she’s sitting at the kitchen table, a cup of tea in front of her. “I can help with that. I can make a spell that will magnify the effect of the alcohol and make it last longer.” She leans forward, her face a mask of mock pity, “Save your poor wee liver.”

Dean’s unsure whether to thank her or be offended. He settles for grunting at her and refilling his coffee mug. “Where’s Cas?” he says over his shoulder.

“Not up yet.” Sam says. “If we’re heading to California, I better get packing.”

“Me too,” says Rowena. “It’s been a lovely visit, and I’ve enjoyed your company, but I’m planning on spending Hogmany in Scotland.” She looks at Dean, smiling sweetly. “I’ll make you up a hex bag before I go."

Dean turns back to the table and looks at her suspiciously for a second. Rowena being nice to him is still somewhat of a new concept. Cas chooses that moment to join the crew. 

“Good morning.” He heads straight for the coffee maker and Dean feels perversely proud that he’s instilled that habit in Cas. It gives them something to do together, a thing to share. Last thing he wants is Cas knocking back herbal tea with Sam. Dean shudders at the thought, eyes lingering on Cas’s back. 

Armed with a thick china mug, Cas turns and surveys the table blearily. “What’s going on?”

“We have a case,” says Dean, shaking a couple of Tylenol into his hand and washing them down with coffee. “In California.”

“I’ll get packed.”

***

The Twisted River Winery is a beautiful building, all cedar wood and smoked glass, built low against the backdrop of the vineyard that stretches across rolling hills, with vines planted to the south, and woods to the north. They park and get out of the car, Fed suits standing in for whatever formal wear one wears to a New Year’s Eve party at a winery. 

“OK, so let’s go over the plan one more time,” says Sam.

Cas is still a bit pouty over losing rock-paper-scissors to Dean and having to be bait (you’d think he’d notice what Sam’s known since they were kids, Dean always leads off with scissors). In the long-suffering voice of someone with angelic memory forced to demonstrate it, he recites:  
“Dean and I will imbibe enough alcohol so that we can see the shojo. I will act as bait and stagger theatrically around the winery and grounds so that Dean, also a bit “lit” can “shank” her with the katana blessed by a Shinto priest. You will stay sober and run interference with anyone who might get in the way, and generally keep the other partygoers safe.” 

Sam nods, satisfied, and they head into the building, showing the tickets that he bought on his phone as they drove west from Kansas.

They walk through the dining room and into the gallery. A small crowd of people are standing in groups or sitting at tall tables scattered around the room. As they find a place to stand, a blonde woman wearing a sequined dress gets up from one of the tables and addresses the crowd.

“Welcome, everyone, to this celebration of the end of another year, and the beginning of a new one. I’m Tamara Knightley, the owner of Twisted River Winery. We are very honoured to have Kazuhara Tanaka here with this collection of Edo Period Nabeshima ware. It was produced in Lord Nabeshima's kiln at Okawachi near Arita around 1700.” She nods towards a tall man in a severe black suit standing next to one of the spotlit pedestals that holds a beautiful blue plate painted with herons.

“Unlike most Arita ware, the designs draw on Japanese rather than Chinese traditions, especially those of textile design. Most of the wares were dishes for food and bottles for sake. The Nabeshima used the pottery themselves and also gave it to other feudal lords as prestige gifts. 

“This is the first time the collection is being exhibited outside Japan. We at the Twisted River winery are happy to be the last stop on the U.S. tour and to usher in the new year surrounded by this beauty. Please feel free to look at the lovely artwork, but please refrain from touching anything. We wouldn’t want Mr. Tanaka to regret bringing this pottery to the United States.”

She sits back down. The crowd is eclectic, maybe fifty people, some dressed casually, others to the nines in sparkles and satin, and a hum of conversation resumes.

***

The whiskey is going down smoothly, Dean thinks. At least for him. Across the table, Cas shudders a bit as he downs another shot from the flask. “Dean, we’re at a winery, can’t we drink a nice Shiraz rather than something that tastes like its day job is stripping paint off doors?” Sam smirks at that, but Dean is firm.

“Nope, time is of the essence. And what this lacks in oaky aftertaste and notes of cedar, it makes up for in speed.” Dean leans forward and tips the bottom of the flask up so the neck meets Cas’s lips again. “Look, we have a real tight window of opportunity. Cocktails at seven, dinner at eight. An hour isn’t going to be enough for people to get really blitzed, and then dinner will slow them down too. So we need to be wasted enough to see the shojo and gank her before anyone else either sees her and panics, or gets gutted.”

“I know, Dean, you told me in the car.” Dean’s noticed that Cas gets pissy when he drinks. Pissy. Heh. Pissy when he’s pissed. 

Waitstaff are circulating with flutes of champagne for the guests. Dean hurriedly snatches the flask of whiskey from Cas and stuffs it back into his jacket pocket. They both accept a proffered glass, but Sam passes, raising his bottle of sparkling water as an excuse. 

“OK, what I don’t understand is that the victims don’t seem to have anything in common,’ Dean says. ”It’s not like that time with Garth when the shojo was being directed to take out all the heirs to the brewery. This time, the bodies were a couple from the Netherlands and a worker from the vineyard. All they have in common is that they were on the same property as the pottery when they died.”

Sam leans forward and lowers his voice. “I was able to get into the server at the ME’s office in Portland and look at the crime scene photos. Those wounds were definitely not from a cougar. The only explanation I can see is that the shojo is rogue and not acting on anyone’s direction, just angry that her bottle was removed from Japan.”

Dean swallows the last of the sparkling wine in his glass. “So she’s homesick?”

“I think so, yeah. And taking it out on anyone she can catch alone.”

“Huh.” 

Apparently the whiskey and champagne are working. Dean’s definitely getting tipsy. He's got that slight buzz going, feeling it in his gut and around his eyes. He looks over at Cas, who’s blinking in the most adorable (adorable?) way as he sips from his flute. Dean looks away and fumbles in his pocket for Rowena’s hex bag. It’s small and lumpy. Once he’s feeling no pain, he’s supposed to squeeze it hard enough to break the sparrow bone inside and then the scrap of fabric with his blood on it will create the spell to keep him at that level of intoxication without having to drink any more. The spell is supposed to last until sunrise.

Dean eases back on the stool and looks around. The decor is minimalist. Bleached wooden floors and white walls with paintings hung at irregular intervals. Recessed lighting that manages to be both illuminating but not harsh. Tall tables in the gallery itself and cozy booths in the winery’s dining room outside the gallery space. The pottery exhibit is against the far wall: platters and plates on pedestals, and delicate bottles, bowls and vases arranged on a sea of white satin on shelves set at chest height.

An art gallery in a winery. Huh. Can you get any more fancy or expensive than that? It reminds him of the joke about the most expensive restaurant in the world: a concession stand in a movie theatre in an airport. Heh. 

The New Year’s Eve party is small, exclusive. The tables in the dining room are set for 50. A manageable number of people for Sam to keep an eye on. Probably more like 60 counting the caterers and waitstaff. White twinkly lights and centrepieces of white orchids and roses create an elegant backdrop. It’s hard not to feel conspicuous with the sword hidden inside the leather jacket that he’s resisted several attempts by staff to take away and hang up. 

Cas looks up, and his eyes are just the slightest bit unfocused. “Dean, I think I’m ready.” 

“Yeah, me too.” Dean reaches into his pocket and squeezes the hex bag until he feels the tiny bone inside snap. A sharp tingle runs through his body. 

“OK, showtime,” Dean says, easing off the tall stool. “Cas, you take a stroll through the lobby and the kitchen, I’m gonna check the dining room and gallery and then catch up with you.”

“Most people are going to be in the dining room, so I have that covered. I’ll stay put and keep an eye out there,” says Sam.

Cas, very slightly unsteady on his feet, agrees and sets off slowly towards the kitchen. Dean watches him go. For perhaps a little longer than necessary to ensure that he doesn’t stumble on his way. He finds himself mesmerized by Cas walking away from him, the slightly tipsy sway of his hips keeping Dean’s attention until he shakes his head and heads for the dining room. Guests are leaving the lounge and finding their seats at the tables. No shojo.

He looks back into the gallery. A few guests are looking at the display of pottery on the pedestals, but no angry Japanese spirits are present. OK then. It’s time to go trail Cas and make sure that the spirit can’t sneak up on him. Dean moves through the lobby, nodding to the woman behind the reception desk.

He heads towards the restrooms, but as soon as he’s out of sight of the woman, he ducks down a hallway marked “Authorized personnel only.” Large swinging doors at the end of the hallway open into a cavernous room filled with giant stainless steel tanks. A sharp fruity aroma fills the air. No one’s there. Not man, nor mouse, nor shojo. Dean giggles to himself imagining opening the spigot on one of those tanks and drinking wine right from the faucet.

He goes back through the doors into the hallway, stopping as he hears loud voices. It’s Tamara and she’s arguing with someone. Dean looks around. The voices are getting closer. _Shit_ , he doesn't have a good explanation for being in the hallway. Quickly, he opens a door to his left and steps in, shutting it behind him. It‘s dark, but he can tell he’s in a janitor’s closet, he can smell the cleaning products and feel steel shelving pressing against him. Steel shelving and something else. Something warm and firm and chest-shaped.

“Hello, Dean”

Dean makes a noise like a startled parrot.

“Jesus Christ, Cas! What are you _doing in here_? You gave me a heart attack.” Dean turns on the flashlight on his phone to see Cas is swaying slightly on his feet.

“I was about to check out the staff offices when I heard voices. I thought it would be best to hide until they went by. I seem to have nodded off for a second.” Cas sways again, pressing more of his body against Dean, peering at him out of slightly bloodshot azure eyes. Dean can’t help but stare back. The proximity of Cas, the warmth of his body and the tang of whiskey on his breath is doing a number on Dean. He’s tingling all over. He wants to stay in here forever, or at least until he finds out what it would be like to make out with Cas in a closet. He can imagine it _so_ clearly, leaning forward and softly, so softly, touching Cas’s lips with his. Pressing harder, losing himself in the kiss. With difficulty he tears his eyes away from Cas’s plush lips. 

His brain keeps going though, at full speed. What would it be like? What would it be like to actually bring to life the fantasies he entertains when alone in his room in the bunker or behind the wheel on those long drives to the next monster-killing ground? He feels _this close_ to asking Cas if he can kiss him, the intoxication of their proximity and the intimacy of the small room playing with him, making him want to tell Cas how he feels. His brain goes into neutral and words are on the verge of slipping out.

No. Stop. Really bad idea. Summoning some inner strength, Dean turns and leans away, ostensibly to press his ear to the door. He swears he hears Cas make a small disgruntled sound when he steps out of Cas’s personal space. 

“I don’t hear Tamara anymore. I think we’re good. Come on.” Dean eases open the door and Cas sighs and pushes past Dean out of the supply closet. Full-contact press of six foot of muscular angel dragging across him has Dean swallowing and trying to control his unruly body that just wants to yank Cas back against him. They stand for a moment in the cold hallway. Well, it probably isn’t cold, Dean thinks, it’s just not the warm delicious feeling of being pressed up against Cas. Dean feels his mouth open and a suggestion that they go back into the supply closet and continue their conversation about to break from his lips.

What the _everloving fuck_ is he thinking? The booze is really screwing with him now.

He shakes his head to clear it. 

“OK, you go check out the offices, and then we should look around outside. All of the bodies were found outside the buildings that were housing the exhibit. You can stagger around a bit and I’ll watch and see if you attract any shojo action.”

Cas walks down the hallway, and into the lobby. The further away he gets, the more in control of himself Dean feels. That’s more like it. There’s a hunt to concentrate on. No time for rogue boners. Sounds of laughter and music are coming from the dining room as he passes the door, and he takes a moment to look in before continuing towards the winery’s entrance.

There. Something is moving. He can see it out of the corner of his eye over by the lobby door. A white figure with long, flowing black hair emerges from the shadows around the now-empty reception desk and drifts towards the glass doors leading outside, following Cas who is heading out the door. She’s almost transparent, her tattered white dress and stark white face shimmering against the glass doors before she passes through them. Dean quickens his steps. 

The shojo pauses next to a couple standing outside the entrance, lighting cigarettes. She hovers for a second, gazing at the sober, and therefore oblivious, smokers with a mournful face, before her attention switches to Cas, already across the drive and heading down a path bordered with small lanterns leading into a wooded area. She turns and moves slowly after him.

Dean picks up the pace. It’s a fine line to let her get far enough away from the winery so that the smokers aren’t in any danger, but not let her out of his sight for long enough to allow her to become a threat to Cas. He slips the sword out of his jacket and stalks down the pathway.

The moon is out. Filtering through the leaves along the forest path, it makes the shojo seem even more unsubstantial. Ahead, Cas stumbles and bites off a curse. Dean is pretty sure he’s acting. Cas is inebriated, but shouldn’t be that drunk. He needs to be able to keep the shojo busy so that Dean can attack while she’s distracted. A thread of worry winds its way around Dean's stomach and he picks up the pace. He can’t let anything happen to Cas.

The path leads down to a stream and some formal gardens, abandoned in the cool night air. Empty. The perfect place for a shojo kill. Cas is humming something to himself, playing the drunk to perfection, and the shojo slips sinuously closer, long nails poised to rake across his unsuspecting back. Dean picks up his pace, running as silently as he can, sword raised to plunge into the shojo. And that’s when the whole plan goes to shit. Dean trips over a tree root snaking across the path and does an Olympic gold medal–worthy faceplant on the cedar chips of the path, the force of the fall knocking the sword from his grasp.

The shojo whirls around, eyes flashing. Dean rolls over, but before he can regain his feet, she’s on him, her talons carving parallel lines through his jacket and the skin underneath. _Christ, that hurts._ He shouts in pain and sees Cas run towards them, a thick tree branch raised over his head to knock her away from him. As the branch descends in a downward arc, it suddenly flies out of Cas’s hands inexplicably _upwards_ and disappears into the forest. Oh. Yeah. That’s right. Shojos can move things with their minds. Which is why sneaking up on them is so important. _Fuck_. 

While she’s distracted by Cas, he manages to stand. His wounds are superficial, but even if they weren’t, he doesn’t have time to worry about them right now. Cas’s diversion is working. The shojo is advancing on him. Dean looks around for the sword. _Come on, come on, where is it?_ The moonlight shining through the leaves shifting in the constant breeze makes a moving mosaic of the pathway. He grabs for what he thinks is the handle of the sword, but is just a short piece of wood. He throws it at the ghost, desperate to get her attention back onto himself. If she hurts Cas, Dean doesn’t know what he’ll do. She ignores it, intent on her prey.

Cas is backing up as the shojo advances, stepping as carefully as he can without looking at his feet, getting further away from the lighted path, Dean, and the sword. Dean can see his eyes in the moonlight. He looks afraid, but in control, all pretence of being drunk gone. 

Dean searches around frantically for the katana. _There!_ He sends up a silent prayer of thanks and scoops it from where it ended up, half off the path. A cry from Cas galvanizes him and he runs into the gardens. Cas is on his back, the shojo over him. She looks over her shoulder and waves a talon-tipped hand towards him and Dean finds himself airborne, thrown by an invisible force across the open gardens and into the hard trunk of a eucalyptus tree. He sees stars, but manages to keep hold of the sword.

Cas cries out again and Dean pushes down panic. He fights his way out of the woods to see Cas on his back, elbowing himself backwards, blood blooming dark on his white shirt. The shojo is stalking forward, seemingly enjoying the sight of her prey helpless on the ground. Dean covers the distance between them as quickly and as quietly as he can. He has one chance. He has to save Cas. He can’t imagine a world in which he doesn’t.

He skids to a stop behind her, but she’s heard him. She whirls to face him and the trajectory of his thrust carries the sword into her belly instead of her back. She opens her mouth and screams, stringy black hair blowing back from her face, and then she bursts into a cloud of silvery vapour and vanishes. The blade falls out of the air onto the path.

“Cas! Cas, are you alright?” Dean falls to his knees beside Cas. His eyes are closed and the blood on his shirt is very black in the moonlight. “Cas!” Dean puts his hand gently on Cas’s cheek, his voice shaking. “Cas, talk to me babe, please, just say something!”

Cas’s eyes open slowly. “ _Babe_? Did you just call me babe?”

Dean opens his mouth to deny it. The word ‘no’ is _right there_ but he can’t get it out. Instead, his traitor mouth starts spouting words without conscious effort. 

“Cas, oh my god. How bad are you hurt? No don’t move, babe. Lie still, let me take a look at your chest.”

Cas lies still and peers up at Dean from under raised eyebrows. In his peripheral vision, Dean can see the bemused look on his face as he hurriedly fumbles the buttons of Cas’s shirt open. He’s scratched up pretty badly, blood still oozing sluggishly from the stab wounds caused by the shojo’s nails, but he’s not in any real danger. Relief makes Dean light-headed. Cas is gonna be OK. He hasn’t lost him.

“Dean.” Cas says.

Dean tears some of the lining out of his jacket and makes a pad to press gently on the wound.

“Dean,” says Cas.

“Not now. Don’t talk.”

Cas huffs. “Dean.” 

Well, it was worth a shot. Dean reluctantly raises his eyes to meet Cas’s. “Uh,” he starts, eloquently.

“You called me ‘babe’.”

“Uh.”

“Twice. Do you want to comment on that?”

“No, not really.” Dean’s sweating now. He needs to shut up, but somehow he can’t. The compulsion to finally tell Cas how he feels is a drumbeat inside him, insistent and irresistible. “OK, OK. _Fine_. Yeah, I may have, under an extreme amount of stress, maybe, possibly, used a term of endearment in your direction.”

Cas rolls his eyes like they’re dice in his hands at a craps table. 

“In my defence, I have been drinking and I just killed a very scary monster.”

Cas sits up slowly, taking over the job of holding the compress to his wound. “I see. And those are the only reasons you called me ‘babe’: alcohol and scary monster?”

“Well, --”

“I’m only asking this because you’ve been drunk many, many times in the past and never called me ‘babe’,” Cas says drily. 

The asshole is enjoying this, Dean realizes. A warmth rises in his chest. Cas isn’t offended or surprised or disapproving.

“And you’ve killed many, many scary monsters before without calling me ‘babe’: vampires, werewolves, wraiths...” Dean’s sure the only thing stopping Cas from ticking them off on his fingers is the wad of jacket lining he’s got pressed to his chest. “Kitsunes, vetala, arachnes,” he continues. “Wendigoes, ghouls, rawheads…”

“OK, smartass. Stop with the monster list. Yeah, I called you ‘babe’. So what?” 

“So, what do you mean by that?” 

And there it is, an opening, the chance to tell Cas the thing he’s been nurturing in secret for longer than he cares to admit. Ugh. He _hates_ this. But, Cas is bleeding and hurt and deserves an answer, no matter how assholey he’s being. Man up, Dean. Tell the truth.

“I mean that I care about you.” Dean stops. The world does not implode. In fact, the night continues on around them. A night bird calls, a cloud drifts across the moon. Huh. OK. He continues. “I mean that I have feelings for you that are not friend feelings. I’ve felt them for a long time. I like being with you. I feel better when you’re around, I miss you when you’re gone.”

“You love me.” It’s not a question. Dean looks at Cas’s face. A small smile curves his lips and his eyes are shining. Holy crap, he feels it too. 

“I...I love you.” There. It’s out. A feeling of relief washes through him. Relief and a faint tingling.

“It’s requited, in case you were worried.” Cas smiles wider and it’s the best thing Dean’s ever seen. He holds out a hand and Dean carefully helps him to his feet. “Let’s go back to the party and let your brother know the shojo’s dead. I can get cleaned up and we can get some champagne and maybe I’ll let you kiss me at midnight.”

“Who says I’m waiting that long?” It’s a rhetorical question. Dean leans forward and finally, _finally_ does what he’s been dreaming of for literal years. He kisses Cas. It’s even better than he’s imagined. Heat runs through him like jet fuel at the press of Cas’s lips, fast and burning bright through his veins. Cas gives as good as he gets and they break apart, breathing heavily. Dean puts an arm around him, making sure that Cas is putting pressure on the shojo wounds. He bends to retrieve the katana and stash it away so no one sees it.

“Let’s go. Sam will be getting worried.” Cas says, dropping another kiss on Dean’s cheek and pulling him towards the path back to the winery.

“Hold up. Not that easy to move quickly when you’ve got a Shinto-blessed sword down your pants.”

Cas arches an eyebrow at that. They make their way up the path slowly, hanging onto each other.

***

Very comfortable in her seat in first class, Rowena holds out her champagne glass for the flight attendant to refill. The last few days have gone exceedingly well. She’s enjoyed spending time with the boys over Christmas (it still surprises her how fond she is of them), and if she made a few tiny changes to the intoxication hex bag to also make it a truth-telling hex bag with no one the wiser, then that’s all for the better. It was far past time for Dean to tell Cas the truth about his feelings. There are only so many longing glances a woman can take.

She sits back with a satisfied smile as the plane begins its descent into Edinburgh.


End file.
